Sing For Me, Little Tree
by Leaf Skeletons
Summary: The relationship that Nico and Hades share is written on a meandering road. Twenty-five snippets from their lives as Father and Son. Written for Musafreen's Parental Unit competition.


_Gift:_

He fidgeted in the makeshift seat, a simple wooden chair amongst glorious thrones. It was however, a start, and he had his boy to thank for showing him- for convincing a bitter, jaded God- of the simple joy of family.

_Old:_

Death and life, perpetually, lovingly intertwined through the centuries. Hades has seen it for years and grief was cold to him, nothing new. It took him some trouble to understand the boy's keen grief for the sister he had just lost.

_Maze:_

Such is humanity. Unlike the cycle of life, it is ever-changing and inconsistent, like his brother's realm the Sea. It is hard for Hades to comprehend his child.

_Phase:_

"Honestly, black aviator jackets and _skull rings?_ Persephone, the boy's a walking caricature!"

"Relax and eat mother's cereal, it's just a _phase_."

_Love:_

He had loved Maria, dark of hair and eye with lips of crushed rose. He had at least been proud of the sister. What was it that made him want to keep his son at a distance?

_Young:_

He is the child of a death God: unconquerable, unreachable, unfailing. But Hades has seen him small, reaching for affection like the child that he is. His heart, something he thought blackened and shrivelled from years of uncaring, softens a little because in the end, Nico is just Boy.

_Dead:_

"Confound the idiotic english language and its thousands of strange expressions!"

"Dad, people just like to make things sound nice, I guess."

"Yes, they really need to make _death_ sound nice."

_Cry:_

At the edge of the moon-liquid river, the boy was sobbing uncontrollably. Cloaked in shadows and aided with mists, Hades watched. He is many things at once; too-proud, too-cold, too-unsure, to comfort.

_Song:_

They both had a pull towards the music of Italy for the same reason. Forget the little quarrels and spats and misgivings and the general gloominess of everything; they both have someone they love, someone they lost- _had_, at least, who hailed from the deep earth of the Old Country.

_Sun:_

The first thing that hit Nico's eyes when he departed the Casino was the warm sun that made spun rainbows out of his eyelashes. Soon enough, he would understand that he had been kept there because _someone_ had cared for him enough to hide him in protection. On of those days when he felt like nothing was fine, he would wait for the dawn to rise him, to remind him.

_Rage:_

Above him, the world was crumpling as the armies of Kronos raged undaunted. And here he was, trapped and useless! Why in Hades- pardon the pun- could Hades not just make his life easy for once?

_Lost:_

His sister is dead, there is a crack in the Earth.

Ghosts peep out from behind skeleton trees.

Hades watches his son, and wonders if he will make it back.

_Four_:

The number of seasons a son waited for acceptance.

The number of seasons a father took to give it to him.

_Fun:_

There was a time when he thought he had it- trading cards and yellow smiles in the way of young children holding the world with jam-smeared fingers.

Hades didn't know how to entertain the boy as he scrunched his nose at the bowl of soggy cereal.

He scribbled a note in cursive to Alecto: _Find Nico some games._

_Abandon:_

Death is a realm misunderstood by many. It is not an end, but a passage, and they both knew that. The Olympians, for all their immortality are confused by it, scared even. So they are shunned, grasping in the shadows together.

_Black:_

Like his mother's eyes, his curly hair and his father's realm. Black like the withered souls of those damned to Tartarus. Black, also, like Life: fertile, soft and when you found the middle of the endless deep, pulsing with a soft, hopeful light.

_Ice_:

There are days when both are convinced they are hewn from the bergs of the North Atlantic, glistening, pristine and intimidating. None will admit- though both know with a fervent certainity- that they are more and less than that. That they are, at their core, intrisically (yes, even the God), humans who feel, who hurt and who love.

_Complex:_

Hades was proud of his son, and loved him (though admittedly grudgingly). But it was hard for him to show it. And it was hard for Nico, who at his tender age was not attuned to realising the intricacies behind the hidden gestures and curling words, to understand.

_Roads:_

The paths of the underworld, like the Earth above, are twisting and winding and made of many nooks and crannies. It is up to Nico to use his wits and his eyes to traverse them like a seasoned warrior. It is a task easy when compared to that of finding the way into his father's pride.

_Sapphire:_

The ocean blue is very much like the underworld. Both have endless secrets that roam, twined in ancient mysteries, in the deep. The brothers too are strange and unfathomable to each other and sometimes, themselves. Watching the spiderweb cracks in the vase of his family, Hades wants his relationship with his son to be better than what he once had.

_ Centre:_

Back in the War, the boy play-fought in the streets as he beat back the Nazis in his childish mind.

Meanwhile, the father watched his children as they crumbled Europe in their fists.

Where is the middle ground?

_Sunlight:_

Hades has forgotten how brightly golden the sun shone, it hurts his eyes, accustomed to the dark. He's down at the Shops, uncomfortable in his pressed jacket and his pinchy shoes that go _click-clack_ on the pavement. The place sells these weird cards that Nico used to play with though, and Hades thinks- though he would never admit it- that it might be nice to see his child being a _child _in golden youth.

_People:_

There was a story of a woman who loved a God, and a God who took her away from him. There were two children, a dark-haired boy and a dark-haired girl. They were his family, and of the three, just one remains; it is so painfully fragile.

_Finding:_

He stuffed everything he owned in a corded rucksack and brought a half-eaten sandwich along. He carried his home with him, because he couldn't find a way back to his Father, or anywhere really. So he is a pack of unfinished business and jigsaw-puzzle dreams, looking for a place to stay.

_Pride:_

From the earth, ancient warriors rise. Death creates more death to ensure life and balance. They have done it, earned their rightful place at the seat of the Gods.


End file.
